ed she. "But I was
more interested in Mr. Tetlow's manner. What do you think he said next?"

"I can't imagine," said Norman.

"Why--that I was even more shameless than he thought. He said: 'Oh, I
know all about you. I found out by accident. I shan't tell anyone, for I
can't help loving you still. But it has killed my belief in woman to
find out that _you_ would sell yourself.'"

She was looking at Norman with eyes large and grave. "And what did you
say?" he inquired.

"I didn't say anything. I looked at him as if he weren't there and
started on. Then he said, 'When Norman abandons you, as he soon will,
you can count on me, if you need a friend.'"

There was a pause. Then Norman said, "And that was all?"

"Yes," replied she.

Another pause. Norman said musingly: "Poor Tetlow! I've not seen him
since he went away to Bermuda--at least he said he was going there. One
day he sent the firm a formal letter of resignation. . . . Poor Tetlow!
Do you regret not having married him?"

"I couldn't marry a man I didn't love." She looked at him with sweet
friendly eyes. "I couldn't even marry you, much as I like you."

Norman laughed--a dismal attempt at ease and raillery.

"When he told me about your marrying," she went on, "I knew how I felt
about you. For I was not a bit jealous. Why haven't you ever said
anything about it?"

He disregarded this. He leaned forward and with curious deliberateness
took her hand. She let it lie gently in his. He put his arm round her
and drew her close to him. She did not resist. He kissed her upturned
face, kissed her upon the lips. She remained passive, looking at him
with calm eyes.

"Kiss me," he said.

She kissed him--without hesitation and without warmth.

"Why do you look at me so?" he demanded.

"I can't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why you should wish to kiss me when you love another woman. What would
she say if she knew?"

"I'm sure I don't know. And I rather think I don't care. You are the
only person on earth that interests me."

"Then why are you marrying?"

"Let's not talk about that. Let's talk about ourselves." He clasped her
passionately, kissed her at first with self-restraint, then in a kind of
frenzy. "How can you be so cruel!" he cried. "Are you utterly cold?"

"I do not love you," she said.

"Why not?"

"There's no reason. I--just don't. I've sometimes thought perhaps it was
because you don't love me."

"Good God, Dorothy! What do you want m